Behind Black Eyes
by Southern Trip
Summary: Post-Antarctica, Remy returns to the mansion under some extrenuous circumstances. Not as lame as it sounds, I hope. I fixed whatever it was I did wrong the first time. Chapter four's coming up, so if anyone still wants to read it sit tight.
1. Without a Trace

A/N:My first X-Men fic, please be kind. I don't know a whole lot about this universe, let me know if anything doesn't seem right. And please review!!

Henry McCoy was not an average medical doctor by anyone's standards. His knowledge of medicine is extensive, his bedside manner is impeccable, he has enough credentials to be hounded by the Mayo Clinic. But despite all these above board qualifications, the majority of the population would rather die of pneumonia then be treated by this man. Because Hank, as he prefers to be called, is a mutant. And while there are some mutants in existence whose only proof of their rather extraordinary condition is in their DNA, Hank does not count himself among these most fortunate. Although his 6'2", muscle bound body is a great deal more agile than the average thirty five year old male, this is hardly enough to finger him as "different." The inch long, fuzzy blue hair that covers every square inch of his skin, however, is more than enough to convince people that he is not quite the same as them.

Instead of letting these rather extenuating circumstances dictate how he should live his life, Hank goes about with the intention of being the best man he can be, human or not. He is currently head doctor of the medical facility of Xavier's School For the Gifted. His medlab is 4200 square feet of the most advanced diagnostic, preventative and logistical equipment in the Western hemisphere, perhaps the world. Hank works daily with machines most American hospitals didn't even have any knowledge of. When the hundred or so students that attend Professor Charles Xavier's school, of which Hank's lab made up part of the basement, or the twenty some odd teachers and faculty that care for the children, fail to provide enough gashes to stitch, broken bones to set, or concussions to x-ray, Hank does not find himself wanting for things to do. First year med students learn early on that there is never "free time" in a hospital. There is always something that needs cleaning, or restocking, or filing. So truant to what he learned during some of the most difficult years of his life, Hank found himself restocking the photo paper for his x-ray machine in between bites of his guilty pleasure, otherwise known as the Twinkie.

"Is there really anything greater in creation than the Twinkie?" he asked himself, holding the pastry up to the brilliant floruscent light above his head. "Certainly not."

He slipped the last bite into his mouth, carefully cleaning his fingers of any leftover sugar coating, and replaced the x-ray cassette in the tray of the machine. He tucked the box of recently purchased, yet almost all devoured Twinkies under his arm, and crossed the expansive lab back to his office, which was less an office and more a cubicle. He set the box on the highest shelf, placing a lot of hope in the old adage, "out of sight is out of mind." Hank pulled out his desk chair, with the intent of updating his computer's medical files, when a shrill ringing filled his ears and reverberated around the stainless steel medlab like a bat's echolocation. After a moment of bewilderment, Hank recognized the sound as the seldom used telephone ringing, and immediately frowned. Calls directed to Xavier's Institute were accepted by the control room on the main floor. Whoever happened to be on duty when a call comes in contacts the intended recipient via intercom, and informs them of the person waiting to speak to them. A call coming to the medlab without a prior communication could mean on of two things to Hank: a medical emergency had occurred somewhere on the grounds, and he is being called directly from another phone on the property, or someone outside the institute, who was given the lab number by Hank, was calling him directly. It wasn't often that calls were sent directly to him. Without a second of further hesitation, Hank reached out with a furry hand and grabbed the handset from its cradle.

"Medlab."

"Hank, it's Erika. How are you?"

A rush of air Hank hadn't realized he was holding was expelled from his lungs. "I am well, my dear. It's good to hear your voice." Dr. Erika Reid, head of Emergency Care at Angels of Mercy Hospital in New York City, had been a close friend of Hank since they attended medical school together, many years ago.

"Feelings mutual. Look, I'm sorry to call you so directly but I did need to speak to you right away."

Hank shook his head, although he was fully aware Erika could not see him. "Think nothing of it. What is so urgent that it could not wait another hour?"

There was a moment of pause, then Erika's muffled voice came through, as though she was giving instructions to one of the many nurses on her staff. "A man came in about twenty minutes ago, paramedics brought him in after he collapsed at JFK," she continued. "I think he's more suitable to your area of expertise, Hank. Can you come in?"

Hank knew that he could take one of two meanings from Erika's words. Either the patient's blood work had come back in record timing, and shown he had a rare blood disorder, a kind of which Hank had devoted his research to, or he had shown some outward sign of mutantcy.

"Give me twenty minutes," he decided, after consulting the Rolex watch fastened to his left wrist.

"I appreciate it, Hank. I'll see you soon." The line was disconnected, and Hank replaced the handset in its cradle. He was somewhat relieved to have been met with something that would break up his monotonous day. He hoped he would not live to regret his thoughts.

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"Like I said on the phone, he collapsed about forty minutes ago shortly after stepping off a plane." Hank had arrived at the hospital in record timing, a result of both little traffic and overzealous driving. Erika walked briskly beside him, dressed in what Hank had come to think of as her uniform, black slacks, with a white blouse and a white lab coat overtop. Her long red hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and as per usual, her face was make-up free. A file was tucked under her arm, presumably information gathered on this mystery patient. "Paramedics administered O2 at the scene, the patient stabilized. When he got here our triage discovered fairly mild frostbite of both hands, mild frostbite of both feet, hypothermia, and what I'm fairly certain is severe pneumonia. X-rays are being developed now."

"Did the paramedics find out what flight he got off of?" Hank asked, as they stepped off the elevator and onto the intensive care floor.

Erika shook her head. "No, but one of our nurses found a boarding card in his overcoat pocket from Rio de Janeiro, although he didn't carry any identification."

Each separate fact, as it was revealed to Hank, was proof enough to set his heart beating a little faster each time. Although he was physician and scientist above all else, a part of him couldn't help but hope against all reason that the young Cajun had performed a miracle and made it out of that frozen island. But practically speaking, Hank knew that he was holding on to an errant hope so he wouldn't have to accept Gambit's death.

They rounded a corner at the end of the hall, whereupon Erika's name was shouted out as though she were the messiah.

"Dr. Reid!" A young nurse called, her pragmatic walking shoes made no noise on the floor as she rushed to her superior. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened."

"Slow down, Nicolle," Erika responded, placing a hand on the young girl's shoulder. Calm down and tell me what happened."

The nurse glanced at Hank out of the corner of her eye, then refocused her attention on Dr. Reid. "I went in to check the hypothermia patient's blood pressure…I'm so sorry!"

As Erika once again calmed her charge and attempted to sort out some sort of knowledge of what exactly had happened, Hank knew suddenly, with alarming clarity, what had happened. It was as if his mind had been touched by a telepath, although he had not felt the telltale sign of a foreign mind brushing up next to his. Yet even so, he knew with no doubt in his mind, that Gambit had been the hypothermia patient. He knew with no prior knowledge, that Gambit had woken up in a hospital bed, gathered his things, and left with no evidence of ever having been there. A chill ran down his spine when he considered the implications for these feelings. If Gambit was alive, regardless of how much he had wished for it, had serious consequences for members of his team. With a barely audible sigh, he turned back to the young nurse, who was finally calm enough to continue.

"He's gone, doctor. I don't understand it. When I left him this morning, he was still unconscious. But only an hour later… he's gone. And so are all his things. It was as if he was never here to begin with."

Erika cursed quietly under her breath, the only sign she would ever give of her frustration. She placed both hands on her nurse's shoulders, and looked into her wide green eyes. "Nicolle, I need you to contact security, give them a description of the man. Contact NYPD, let them know we're missing a patient. If he got up and walked out of here, we need to find him, alright? He's very sick."

Nicolle nodded, having seemed to regain her stability with a list of tasks to do, or maybe it was relief from not getting blamed. She thanked the doctor, nodded in Hank's direction, then took off at a jog down the hall.

"How does this happen?" Erika spoke aloud, once they were alone once again. "That man shouldn't he been able to stand, let alone get up out of bed and leave."

The bitter ball of apprehension that had been growing in the pit of Hank's stomach bubbled over. "I think I can answer all your questions, my dear, if you would tell me why it was you thought he was under my area of expertise." He asked even though he knew the answer.

Erika focused her gaze on Hank, and her green eyes were uncharacteristically wide. "He seemed normal enough, when they brought him in. Really underweight, but nothing off the board. Then I checked his eyes." She shivered. "Hank, you should have seen them, I've never seen anything like it. Red on black. One of the nurses called them devil eyes."

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	2. Man With a Mission

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A/N: OKay, here's the deal. I know there are a ton of Summers sister stories out there, and I bet most of you wanted to know what makes mine different. The purpose of Samantha Summers in this story is basically just to be a friend to Remy. She's a means to an end. I wanted someone in the mansion besides Hank and definitely besides Rogue to miss him, and to be angry with the way he was treated. Basically I wanted him to have someone in his corner. And I thought it would be neat to show the conflicting emotions from the two Summers' when Remy finally makes it back. Anyways, let me know what you think of her. The explanation of how she came to the mansion is going to be mentioned in bits and pieces throughout, so please be patient.

According to Samantha Summers, life more closely resembled a bowl of fruit loops rather than a box of chocolates. In the beginning, everything was bright, colourful, and sweet. But after a while, what's bright slowly turns dull, colour fades, and the sweetness that once made you smile now turns your stomach. One loses interest in life as one would in a bowl of soggy fruit loops, and all that's left to do is dump it down the sink...Okay, so maybe she was slightly more optomistic than that. But on a day like the one she currently found herself experiencing, it was easy to let her mind fall into dangerous trains of thought.

At 11:00 on a Wednesday morning, it was very rare for Sam to have the entire great room to herself. Even given that all thirty seven students that attended Xavier's school should be in classes, there were always one or two scragglers. Not to mention the rest of the support staff who just didn't have anything else going on. It seemed that this was the first time in two weeks, since He'd gone, that she'd had any time to herself. She was highly suspicious that everyone had suddenly found such great interest in her under the influence of her older brother, unofficially second in command of the team and this school. Why he seemed to think she was so delicate, that she would shatter under the slightest pressure, was beyond her. It wasn't like she had ever given him reason to think so.

Samantha groaned, and shifted the icepack she held to her shoulder. Her day had started with an intense bout of training in the danger room, with no spotter to keep an eye on her, which was so against Scott's rules that she had secretly been surprised when he hadn't grounded her or some shit. Her little game had won her a lecture from Scott as he helped her to the medlab, and another from Hank as he set the dislocated shoulder. Lucky for her, they had both said, Scott had come around when he had. Otherwise she might still be lying on that floor. She snorted. Like that would've been so bad. As much as Scott tried to protect her from it, one would think she couldn't handle a little pain. She had gotten through the first nineteen years of her life without him, she could sure as hell carry on now without him.

The double French doors at the far end of the room opened then, attracting her attention better than Spongebob and Patrick had in the last half hour. She spun her chair to face the door, and was momentarily surprised to see Hank come through. Those sets of doors led onto the back of the property, in the direction of the boathouse, and the tennis courts, and one of the swimming pools. In the two years that Samantha had lived in the mansion, she had never once seen Hank use any of the aforementioned facilities. She had seen him leave in what had seemed like a hurry several hours ago, and she had spent enough time with him to notice the troubled set to his brow, underneath all that hair. His white labcoat, which she noticed with a chuckle he hadn't taken off, was pulled tightly around him. He was acting, for lack of a better word, very un-Hanky.

Samantha twisted around, rising to her knees on the seat of the recliner. "Hank!"

The fuzzy doctor spun, obviously having assumed he was alone. His eyes settled on Samantha, and a smile with too many teeth and not enough sincerity was plastered on his face. She slid out of the chair, tossed the icepack on the coffee table, and crossed the room until she stood infront of him.

"What's going on, Hank? You seem...upset."

If at all possible, his smile widened even further. "Ridiculous, my dear. I am perfectly well. It is I who should be inquiring about your health. How is your shoulder?"

Samantha fixed him with a suspicious glance. "It's peachy. I told you both, I'm tough. Are you sure you're not hiding something from me?"

His smile faltered just noticeably, and he looked away. He seemed almost...reluctant to talk to her, as if the simple act of upholding his end of the conversation was too painful to bear.

"I'm sure, my dear. Now, you should be resting, instead of worrying over an old fogie like myself." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek with a fuzzy knuckle. "You'll make sure to come and see me if the pain becomes too much?"

Despite herself, a slight smile crossed her face, and she nodded. "You bet. And the same goes for you, huh?"

The grin he favoured her with was obviously genuine. "Thank you, my dear. Now I really must get back to the lab. Is our dinner date still on?"

"Unless you cancelled on me. I'll see you later, Blue." She squeezed his hand once before stepping aside and allowing him room to leave. Samantha watched him go, and felt a frown slowly descend onto her face. If Hank thought he was doing a good job of acting normal, he had another thing coming. Besides the general twitchy behaviour he had displayed, the fact that he had used three 'my dear's in as many sentences was a dead giveaway. She rolled her shoulder slowly, grimacing at the lightning flash of pain that ran down her arm. Shadowing a perceptive man like Hank would definitely prove a challenge, but she'd accomplished harder before. She knew she would not be able to rest until she found a viable reason for Hank's somewhat erratic behaviour, anyways.

* * *

Logan stared at the busted radiator cap with a deep scowl etched into his weathered face that seemed to have become a permanent fixture as of late. He bit off a series of rather tame curses, considering the trip into town he would have to take later. Of course, living in the mansion didn't have quite the same perks as it used to, so any opportunity to leave with good reason was well received, even given the mundane quality of the task. He chewed thoughtfully on the lit cigar between his teeth as he selected an adjustable wrench to loosen the cap. Working on his jeep had a profound, even meditative quality to Logan that he found himself retreating to more often than ever. The increased tension in the mansion made it difficult for a man with Logan's sensitivities to his surrounding environment. The rather high number of petty squabbles and arguments breaking out among teammates were rapidly taking their toll on him.

A gentle frown crossed his face then, and he straightened slowly from underneath the Jeep's hood.

"Are you gonna to stand there all day, or come in and tell me what has you so bothered?" His voice sounded rough with ill-use. No need to talk when you avoid other people like the plague. He glanced over his shoulder at the open garage door, and the fuzzy blue doctor silhouetted against the afternoon light. Hank hurried forward, wringing his hands in a nervous gesture Logan wasn't accustomed to seeing on the other man. "You alright, McCoy?"

Hank ducked his head, and Logan was sure that if not for the fur, he would see a bright red blush creeping up his neck and face.

"I just returned from a pilgramige into the city,"he began, and the nervous wringing escalated to rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Logan's frown deepened enough to set coins into. "I know, Hank. I was in here when you left. Remember?"

The doctor nodded almost as an afterthought, then continued, even more haltingly than before. "Well, I went on the request of my old friend at Angel Of Mercy hospital; she said she had a case that required my expertise."

Logan's mild sense of concern quickly turned to alarm. The wrench fell suddenly from his weakened grip, and clattered to the floor with a metallic sound that made them both cringe. "Is everyone alright? What's happened?"

Hank shook his head violently from side to side. "No, my friend. Everything is fine. Well, as fine as one could expect, given what I just learned."

He took a deep breath, and Logan suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to hear whatever it was that Hank was so reluctant to tell him.

"She said city paramedics brought in a young man who collapsed in the airport. He had a mild case of frostbite on his hands and feet, fairly mild hypothermia, and what later proved to be a severe bout of atypical pneunomia."

"Well, Hank, that's sad to hear, but I don't understand why ya feel ya hafta tell me."

Frustrated, Hank shook his head again. "No, just listen. The nurse found a boarding card in his jacket, from Rio de Janeiro. But that's really just a sidenote. Dr. Reid said that it was his eyes that made her think of me. Red on black, Logan. One of the nurses called them devil eyes."

Logan's frown melted just noticeably, and he nodded more to himself than Hank. "Okay. Is he still there? Angels of Mercy, ya said?" He fished his car keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, and stepped around Hank towards the rusted out pick-up parked in the opposite corner of the garage.

Hank sighed softly. "No, he's not, Logan. The nurse met us before we even reached his room. She said he disappeared; took all his things and vanished, like he'd never even been there before."

The older man paused mid-stride, and his shoulders slumped minutely. "That does sound like the Cajun, alright."

"You don't sound surprised to hear he's alive."

Logan twisted around at the doctor's words, and smiled grimly. "Honestly, I'm not. I would've been more surprised to learn he didn't find a way off that rock."

"Ever since I pieced this all together, I've done nothing but think about the ramifications something like this would have on the team."

Logan instantly understood the source of Hank's nervousness; nothing to do with Gambit, and everything to do with the team. "Yeah, well, I know what it means. Rogue lied about the whole thing."

"There's no good in jumping to conclusions, my friend. There could be a viable excuse for this. She could've mistaken unconsciousness for death. There are an innumerable amount of scenarios that could've resulted in her leaving him there."

Logan sent Hank an incredulous stare before scooping up the wrench and resuming work on the radiator cap. "It still don't make any sense. Why would she leave his body there even if he really was dead? She knows as well as you and me that you don't leave a teammate behind, dead or alive."

"I didn't come here to debate the morality of the situation with you. I came here because I thought that of all of us, you have that greatest chance of finding him, and bringing him home."

Logan's eyebrows nearly disappeared under his hairline. "Well. And here you had me thinking the good of the team was more important to you." Without waiting for Hank's answer, he replaced the wrench, and wiped the abundant grease from his hands. "I better get moving, then. 'Fore the trail gets cold."

Apparently Hank realized that diplomacy was the best policy. He nodded in agreement. "Thank you, my friend. And contrary to what you may think, I want Gambit back home just as much as you do. But with that hope, I also hold concern over our remaining teammates, and what his return would do to them."

He favoured Logan with an apologetic look, then turned and exited the garage in a much more stable mood than when he entered. Logan waited until the footfalls were out of his hearing range, before saying, "I guess you're gonna insist on coming?"

He looked over at the bank of shadows cast along the backwall, and grinned widely when Samantha stepped out. "You're good, kid, but you're not that good."

Samantha's stare was even and calculating. "Are you going to fight me on this?"

Logan's head inclined to the right, as though he were considering the question. "Nah, I don't think that would be a very good idea. 'Sides, he's more likely to listen to you."

"What makes you think you're gonna like what I have to tell him?"

Logan opened the passenger door of the truck, and shrugged tightly when she slid into the seat. "Well, the way I figure it, anything's better than nothing. The least we can do is tell him he's welcome back."

Logan climbed into the driver's seat, and was not surprised to see the wary set to her eyes. "You aren't just doing this because it'll piss off Scott, are you?"

His smile was automatic at the possible annoyance of her older brother. "Trust me, kid. That's just one of the perks."


	3. Lost and Found

A/N: Okay, here's the next installment. Thanks for all the reviews, they really help. Sarah brought up a couple of good points that I feel I have to address. I don't follow the comic books, so I can't really say I know all the details. I took what I learned from the 'net about the trial, and Antarctica, and 'embellished' upon it. I've always thought that Logan, of all people, would be the first to come to Remy's defense. He's a man with a lot of ambiguoty in his background, a man whose done some terrible things and I imagine carries some real guilt with him. I always thought that he would understand Remy's position, wanting to keep something like the Massacre a secret. Any details you guys can give me that I seem to be missing are very appreciated. And there is more Sam/Scott interaction coming up, so sit tight. Thanks again for all the reviews!

P.S. I rewrote this chapter, cause I hated the first one. I got all worked up with ideas and spat it out much too soon. Anyways, here's the new, hopefully improved chapter. Also, on a sidenote, I'm thinking of doing an existing relationship between Samantha and Bobby Drake. I think the relationship between the two of them could be interesting when Remy comes back. (Oops, I mean IF Remy comes back. hehe) Anyways, let me know what you think, cause if nobody wants to see that, then I won't bother to write it.

* * *

"Dammit, there's nothing here!"

Samantha slammed shut a cabinet door with a grunt of frustration, but at least had the good sense to wince at the loud bang that erupted. They had arrived at the hospital in even less time than it had taken Hank earlier, but that was mainly due to the fact that Logan cared far less about getting a speeding ticket than he did about fullfilling Samantha's demands for more speed. Getting past the hospital staff after visiting hours were over had depended on some rather blatant flirting on Samantha's part, but it had done the trick with a low cost to her sense of self. Her partner in crime rolled his eyes inconspicuously and sent her a warning glance.

"Consider that a good sign, kid,"he said, looking down at the street from the fourth story window. "You think Gumbo would leave any clues? I'd be more worried if we found something."

When a reply wasn't forthcoming, Logan looked up from his parousal of the street below, and turned to regard her. She stood with her hip hitched on the edge of the newly made bed, a worried frown marring her face. It wasn't often that Logan was reminded of her relationship to their fearless leader, but every so often it hit him so hard as to take his breath away. Now, with the sunlight coming in from the window, he was nearly shocked at the similarities between the two. The stress of the past weeks had definitely affected her. He noticed the dark bags under her eyes, the pinched look around the corners of her mouth that hadn't been there before this whole Antarctica mess. He knew also how much defending her Cajun friend took out of her. Having to do it sixteen times a day, to a mansion full of people, only made losing him that much harder. That was the main reason Logan found himself speaking on Gambit's behalf as often as he did.

"So what do we do now?"she asked, the tired sigh evident in her tone.

"We persuade the staff." A dangerous glint shone in his eyes, the same sparkle that Bobby called 'crazy death eyes.' He made for a quick exit, but paused just outside the door when he realized he wasn't being followed. Samantha remained leaning against the bed, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "You coming, Sam?"

She made no acknowledgement as to having heard him. His expression softened considerabley, and he walked back to stand next to her, adopted a similar stance. When after several minutes she hadn't said anything, he glanced over at her and was startled to see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

"He hated hospitals, you know,"she explained softly, wrinkling her nose just noticeably. "He probably woke up here, and freaked out. He never told me why they bothered him so much, but I get the impression it wasn't anything G rated."

Logan wasn't one to give out false platitudes; if anything he was more likely to break someone's heart with honesty than help get their hopes up. So Samantha understood the seriousness and meaning behind his words when he said, "we'll find him, kid." It was just four simple words, meaning next to nothing when spoken by anybody else. But the fact that it was Logan saying them made the impact on her that much more defining. Nothing else could've gotten a similar reaction out of her. She smiled tightly at him, and stood, squaring her shoulders.

"Yeah, you're right. I trust you, Logan. So, what? Question the employees?"

He nodded. "That's the plan. Odds are in a hospital as big as this, they didn't see anything. 'Sides, the Cajun always knew how to blend in when it fit. But won't hurt to ask, anyway."

He patted her shoulder companionabley, and this time they left the room together, heading towards the nurses station. Not two steps away from the counter, the cell phone her older brother had insisted she carry at all times rang shrilly in the relative quiet. Her face burning several different shades of red at the embarrassing intrusion, she sent Logan an exasperated glance before flipping it open and answering with a tired hello. A few passing hospital orderlies flashed her disapproving looks, some glanced pointedly at the sign banning such devices. One well placed snarl from Logan, however, and they were suddenly reluctant to follow through.

"Where the hell are you two?"

Samantha recognized the protective, bordering on maniacal tone of her older brother. She bit back a 'none of your damn business,' and instead said, "I'm at Bloomingdale's with Logan. I need new bed sheets, and he promised he'd left me pick out some nice drapes for his room."

She heard the exhausted sigh he let out, and was almost sorry she insisted on always giving him such a hard time. Almost.

"Cut the crap, Samantha. I talked to Hank. I know what you two are doing."

"Well then you and the rest of the team should be out here looking too!" Her words were pointless, really; serving only to rehash an argument they'd had too many times to count since that joke of a trial. She sometimes wondered if she was ever as difficult to deal with as her older brother could be.

"Look, Sammy." His words were gentle and kind, and the use of her nickname instantly made her suspicious. "I know you want to find him. I understand that, believe me. But do you know how miraculous it would be if he made it out of there? I mean, his odds are so small they're hardly worth mentioning."

She waggled her eyebrows at Logan, who undoubtedly could hear every word Scott spoke and wasn't even bothering to pretend like he couldn't. "Sounds to me like you're starting to doubt your opinion that Rogue should've left him there."

"I'm not having this conversation with you again. Not over the phone." His sudden angry tone made her believe all the more that he was beginning to lose faith in Rogue and her actions that day. Her brother's major fault was his at times infallible belief that his teammates could do no wrong. He believed in Rogue, for the most part because the alternative was just too horrible for him to consider.

"Yeah, well, next time you see me in person we'll have Remy with us. We can talk about it then."

There was a long silence at the other end of the line, and for a moment Sam thought he had hung up on her. "I do want you to find him, kiddo. I know it doesn't mean much, but I really hope you're right, despite what it might mean for the team."

His words suddenly rendered her speechless, and mortified, she found herself blinking back tears. "Um, thanks, Scott." Her voice was thick with emotion, and no doubt gave away the effect his belief was having on her. "We'll call you when we find out more."

"I'd appreciate that. Good luck, Samantha."

The line went dead, and when Sam closed the phone, she found herself renewed with a new store of energy. When she turned to look at Logan, he was smiling slightly at her. "Ya know, I'm the first guy to point out Cyke's faults. But I don't really blame him for this. He's trying to balance what's good for the team, and what's good for his family."

She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. The downside to being involved in a group with her brother in charge was the fact that she could understand his reasons for doing things nearly all the time, whether she supported them or not. "Yeah, I know, Logan. So how are we gonna do this?"

He motioned to the counter several metres away, and the young man in nurses scrubs typing away at a computer behind it. "This is the guy that the police questioned already, he was at that station about the time they found the Cajun went missing. I figure he's our best option."

Samantha looked skeptical. "Are you sure he's gonna want to talk to us?"

"He will if he knows what's good for him." His grin was a stone's throw from feral, and for the first time since leaving the mansion, Samantha felt the first seed's of doubt beginning to sprout in the pit of her stomach. All this work could be for nothing, she knew. They could find a body at the end of their search, supposing he was that sick when he first left the hospital. On the other end of the spectrum, they might never find him. He was definitely a man would knew how to hide when he didn't want to be found. It was also a concern, probably the most likely of all, that they would find him and he would want nothing to do with them. That, she knew, would be the hardest scenario to take. But until they found him, if they ever did, she would have to look for the light at the end of the tunnel. For the time being, she believed in Logan's uconventional methods, especially when she found herself on his side of the search.

She followed him to the counter, and rested her elbows on the formica surface, watching the young man at the computer terminal. He looked no older than a highschool student, short blond hair so pale it was nearly white, with a mass amount of freckles covering the upper half of his face. His lips were pursed into a straight, bloodless line, and a thin sheen of sweat had gathered on his forehead. Obviously, whatever task he had before him was giving him a run for his money.

Samanatha looked to Logan out of the corner of her eyes, then cleared her throat softly. His head shot up in surprise, and he studied the two somewhat bewilderedly.

"Hi, Sam said, making sure to drop her normal tone a few octaves. "Do you have a minute?"

The boy glanced over at Logan with wide, almost appreciate green eyes, then gulped and nodded. He floated over to them on the wheeled desk chair, and asked breathlessly, "What can I do for you two?"

"I know you've probably been through this a million times already today, but I need to ask you some questions about the patient that went missing earlier this afternoon."

The boy's reaction was immediate, a deep frustrated frown. Sam got the impression she was going to be let down before even being allowed to work her magic. "But I already told you guys all I know. I didn't see anything." He sent an apologetic glance Logan's way, and chewed his lip nervously. Several things hit her at once: the looks he kept shooting Logan, the way his body was turned away from her and towards the older man, the oral fixation as he stared at Logan. She sent an elbow into her partners ribs, meaning for him to take over. He seemed to get the message, and he grunted in acknowledgement.

"Uh, look, kid. We're not with NYPD, or the administration, or anything like that. The guy's...uh... our friend, we haven't seen him in a long time, we're just trying to find him."

The young man smiled almost shyly. "I wish I could help, I really do. But I didn't see any patients walking by. I would've stopped them if I did."

"He probably didn't look like a patient. He's really good at fitting in, he would've been somebody you haven't seen before, but wouldn't find out of the ordinary."

Samantha nodded her agreement. "Yeah. He's tall, about six feet, shoulder length reddish brown hair. His eyes, um, he has this genetic problem, his eyes don't look like they should."

She almost jumped for joy when she saw the kid's eyebrows lift in what seemed like recognition. "Oh, my goodness,"he breathed. "I didn't even think to question him."

Logan sent a satisfied glance to Sam out of the corner of his eye, then asked, "who? What're you thinking?"

He frowned in concrentration, and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "There was this guy, said he was just hired as an orderly up on the sixth floor. But he...I didn't think there was anything wrong with him. He had reddish brown hair, but it was short, only couple of inches long. I really thought it was strange at the time, he was wearing sunglasses. But he said he had an eye infection that was just clearing up, and it made his eyes light sensitive. And he was dressed in scrubs, so I didn't stop to doubt him."

"It's alright,"Samantha soothed quietly. Her heart was beating like a battering ram against the inside of her chest. She couldn't help but drum her fingers impatiently against the counter. "We're not blaming you for anything. We just want our friend back. What did he say to you?"

Memories now at the front of his mind, the boy answered forthright. "He said he had just moved to the city, and he needed a place to stay until he could get an apartment. I gave him the name of the Starlight Motel a couple of blocks over, my friend's Uncle manages the place. He took off right after that, didn't even say thank you."

Samantha smiled grimly. "That sounds like him,"she said to Logan. She turned back to the orderly. "I can't thank you enough for your help. We really appreciate it."

He shrugged off her thanks with a slight shake of his head. "Don't worry about it. I hope you find your friend."

The two X-Men wandered back over to the room Remy had been assigned, both deep in thought about what they had just learned.

"That doesn't make a lot of sense, Logan. He knows this city like the back of his hand. Why would he have to ask for a place to stay? And Lord knows he has enough contacts, he sure as hell wouldn't have to stay in a motel."

Logan nodded. "Something definitely stinks. But I don't think that kid was lying."

He stopped in front of the doorway, and allowed his eyes to close softly, taking in deep breaths through his nose.

Samantha laughed lightly. "Yeah, he was too busy trying to impress you."

Apparently not having heard her, Logan narrowed his eyes just slightly, then strode across the hallway to the dirty linen hamper. He stared at it long and hard for a minute, ignoring Samantha's questions, then reached out and ripped the lid off. It dropped to the floor with a clang, but no one in the area paid it any mind. His features twisted into a grimace at the range of smells that came floating up to his nose, but he stuck his hand in deep nonetheless. When he straightened, his fist was clenched tightly around a dirty brown leather jacket of some description.

"Oh, my God,"Sam gasped as Logan straightened out the garment. The tattered ends of the jacket pooled on the floor; the duster had seen more than its fair share of wear. Her hand trembled as she brushed the bloody cuffs with her fingertips. Logan's expression was grim, but he allowed her to take it into her hands, breath in deeply the smell of cigarettes, high end mens cologne, and bourbun from the inside colour. She found sudden tears in her eyes as she looked up at Logan.

"It's Remy's."

To be Continued


End file.
